Death in St. Petersburg

by Tasha Alexander

  “What became of the father?” Cécile asked.

  “He died in a naval accident when Katenka was young,” Colin said. “It’s entirely possible that she—or, more likely, her brother—would have kept his dagger.”

  A chill passed through me. “You don’t think—”

  “My, my, my,” Masha said, her lips curling and her dimples deepening. “Perhaps we do have a crime of jealousy here, the desperate attempt of a dancer to win her moment on the stage.”

  “Katenka could not have organized it more brilliantly,” Cécile said. “She triumphed in Swan Lake. No one who saw her will ever forget that performance, not only because of Nemetseva’s death, but because it was the first time Legnani had allowed someone to take a role that she all but owned.”

  “And now our shy Katenka is a principal dancer,” Masha said. “Rising to the rank in a blaze of glory.”

  “That old ballerina you spoke with—what was her name?” Cécile asked. “She told you, did she not, that she saw Nemetseva come out the stage door in a cloak? A hooded cloak. What if it wasn’t Nemetseva but Katenka, bent on a murderous errand? Perhaps the old woman didn’t notice because she was expecting to see Nemetseva.”

  “You are letting your imagination run away without your common sense,” Colin said.

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Cécile, but must agree with my husband. If it had happened that way, Agrippina Alexandrovna would have seen them both exit through the door, and, at any rate, Katenka couldn’t have killed Irusya herself,” I said. “Regardless of anything else, she wouldn’t have had nearly enough time to get cleaned up and back on stage. But her brother—”

  “Oui, Kallista,” Cécile said. “Her brother. She may have persuaded him to do the dark deed on her behalf. He would not have required any payment, and it would explain why she denies having any contact with him.”

  “Jealousy is a powerful motive,” I said. “Irusya and Katenka were best friends, but their fortunes took markedly different directions, one living a life of pampered luxury, the other residing only a few steps away from squalor.”

  “No dancer is pampered,” Masha said. “They work astonishingly hard and suffer a great deal of pain.”

  “Yes, bien sûr,” Cécile said. “But you understand Kallista’s meaning. One girl was a success; the other was not, until she managed to eliminate the competition.”

  “It is a viable theory,” Colin said, his voice serious. “But to prove it requires evidence. Hard evidence, not rampant speculation. And you must tread carefully. Murder is a dangerous game.”

  That evening, back at the hotel, I focused on Katenka. Could she be behind her friend’s death? In so many ways every sense revolted against the idea, but I could not deny the possibility. Her quiet beauty and passionate presence on stage were at odds with the image of her as a murderer, but those two same characteristics were also at odds with each other and did not take into account the hints of strength and conviction I had observed in her. She reminded me of St. Petersburg. The city was cosmopolitan and sophisticated, but there was an edge to it, something verging on the barbaric that reminded me of the horrid bits that always lurked in fairy tales. Instead of this being a liability, it somehow managed to become something else altogether, bringing to the city a gravitas or layer of depth or something—I could not quite put my finger on it—beyond that I had felt anywhere else. Its endless complexities tugged at me, pulling me in and luring me into its darkness, filling me with trepidation at what it might lead me to unearth.

  Ekaterina Petrovna

  February 1898

  After that terrible day in November, Katenka went more than a month without hearing from either her brother or from Mitya. She returned to the bookstore, but the owner confirmed that Lev had left his job and moved out, leaving only a note for her and no forwarding address. In it, he begged her not to look for him and explained that he realized now he was not meant for an ordinary life. Marrying Irusya would have kept him from his true, noble purpose. And that purpose, he insisted, could prove dangerous, so he would remain silent until he felt it safe to see her again.

  As for Mitya … he had no right to be angry with her because of something Irusya had done. She wrote to him twice but received no reply, and she felt her heart begin to harden.

  The one person she would have preferred not to see, the one person who had catalyzed all this misery, she could not avoid. The morning after she had rejected Lev, Irusya arrived late to company class, leading Petipa, in his extremely bad Russian, to reprimand her and state, in front of everyone, that having succeeded in carrying one performance as Swanilda was not enough to secure a career. Irusya stared at the floor and nodded. Katenka tried to catch her eye, but her friend never looked in her direction.

  After class, Katenka had called to her, but Irusya pretended not to hear; it was not until the following day that the two spoke.

  “I am ashamed of myself, Katenka,” Irusya said. She had arrived, unannounced, after midnight, at Katenka’s flat, where they had spent so many happy hours. Everything felt different now as Katenka listened to her talk, and she wondered if she could ever feel close to her again. “It’s not that I don’t love him. You must understand that. I don’t think I shall ever love anyone else in quite the same way. But…” She dropped her head back and sighed. “There is so much I want from my life, Katenka. I could never have made your brother happy. I realized that a while ago, and I have tried to tell him as much, but he wouldn’t listen. He can say whatever he wants now, but someday he would come to regret not having a regular life, with a family. I don’t want a house full of children and to become old and fat watching them grow. I want to dance and I want to travel the world. I want to be on stage in London and Paris and Milan.”

  “Lev would never have kept you from that. He adores you.”

  “Right now he thinks he would not want to hold me back, but I know he is wrong.”

  “You cannot know what is in another’s heart.”

  “But I do know, Katenka, what is in my heart,” Irusya said. She took her friend’s hand. “I love him, but he cannot make me happy. It would be unfair to marry him. Unfair to myself. You probably despise me for admitting it, but it is the truth. I do not want to be the wife of a Petersburg shopkeeper. I do not want to have to entertain his wretched political friends twice a week and pretend to be interested in whatever nonsense they’re talking about. Can you forgive me for that?”

  Katenka sat in silence for a while, staring at her friend. Yes, she had to admit Irusya was still her friend. Her only friend, now that Mitya was gone. She had no right to be angry at Irusya, who answered her brother’s proposal with candor and honesty. Her words had been brutal, but they were also the truth. “You don’t need my forgiveness, Irusya. You’ve done nothing to offend me. You are my dearest friend, and I want nothing more than for you to find your happiness. I would be dishonest if I said I hadn’t hoped that would be with Lev, but if it isn’t, I can’t force you to feel something you don’t.”

  “I do worry about him, you know,” Irusya said. “Have you heard anything from him?”

  “I have not. He left without a word.” The lie came easier than Katenka expected. She might still consider Irusya a friend, but that friend had broken Lev’s heart. She did not deserve any news about him.

  Now, three months later, she and Irusya were sitting together again, but not in Katenka’s apartment. Things had become easier between them, but they never felt quite the same again. Perhaps that was inevitable. Tonight, they were at a party, much like the one at which everything had changed. At least that was how Katenka viewed it. She divided her life between the time before Irusya fell in love with Kolya and the time after. It might sound ridiculous; she knew that, but she did not care. On that night, she lost her best friend, her brother, and Mitya.

  Not precisely lost, perhaps, but that was how it felt. The three most important relationships in her life shifted unalterably as a result of the transfer of Irusya’s affec
tions to Kolya.

  Katenka had danced in Le Corsaire that evening, but the fatigue consuming her did not come from the performance. Not seeing Mitya backstage still gutted her, leaving her insides twisted and hurt. Her heart had not hardened as much as she hoped it would. When she had performed the same role in October, he had waited for her with a book of Byron’s work, knowing the ballet had been based on one of his poems. No one had waited for her backstage tonight.

  Ambushed in her dressing room by a desperate Irusya, Katenka had acquiesced without so much as a fight to attend Kolya’s party. What did it matter anyway? She had nowhere else to go but home, a place that before had always offered comfort. Yet since Lev left, every piece of family furniture—the objects she had fought to save after her grandfather died—served only to remind her of long-ago happiness she would never again have. She shook her head, wishing she could force herself to engage with her surroundings, but the effort was fruitless. She was standing in front of the buffet table, staring blankly at the food without even picking up a plate. Someone touched her shoulder.

  “You look as unhappy to be here as I. They tell us it is an honor to be invited.” Sofya Guryevna Pashkova, a fellow corps dancer, slipped her arm through Katenka’s. “Yet I am not sure why we believe them. I don’t particularly enjoy the company of princes. I do, however, enjoy their caviar. Look.” She had in her hand a small tin, into which she scooped a heaping portion. “They never notice, and even if they did, I don’t think they’d mind. It doesn’t occur to them that we can’t afford it on our own. Come home with me and share my stolen feast?”

  The girls were giggling conspiratorially as they thanked their host and headed for the cloakroom, but Katenka stopped when she heard familiar voices coming from a nearby dark alcove. Sofya went ahead to collect their coats, but Katenka stayed, pressing herself against the wall so she would not be seen.

  “I cannot be your first, douchka,” Kolya was saying. “I would never do that to you. It would not be fair.”

  “I don’t care about fair,” Irusya replied.

  “You would eventually and then you would despise me. Come, let’s go back and have more champagne. Your beauty has addled me enough tonight; you must grant me a reprieve.”

  “I love you,” Irusya said.

  “And I, you, douchka. And I, you.”

  Katenka frowned, surprised at Kolya’s words. Maybe he was not so bad as she feared. Sofya had returned with the coats and told her their host had offered the use of his carriage, which meant they did not have to pay a driver themselves. It was a much-appreciated gesture.

  “Perhaps the parties aren’t so bad,” Katenka said, once they were at the little table in Sofya’s sitting room. “We were brought home in style—”

  “And warm!” Sofya added. “The blankets in the prince’s carriage were tremendous, weren’t they? Would that I had a coat made out of them!”

  “And we have the most delicious caviar I have ever tasted.” Katenka spread more of it on a thin slice of black bread. “I am so grateful you reached out to me. I’ve never been good at parties and thought I was the only one who does not enjoy running with the fast set. Why did we never speak at school?”

  “I thought you despised me,” Sofya said. “You hardly talked to anyone. Now I know it’s because you’re shy, but then I was much younger.”

  “You always seemed so poised. I think I was afraid of you.”

  “Afraid of me? Absurd! You are the one who was at the top of our class.”

  “Until I failed miserably at our graduation performance,” Katenka said.

  “You’re the only one who remembers that,” Sofya said, filling Katenka’s glass with more wine. Good Russian wine, not French. “A performance of yours that is—forgive me—lackluster is still miles ahead of what the rest of us can do on our best days. You lack only confidence. You used to have it when we were in school, and someday it will return to you. In the meantime, I am happy to have you in the corps with me. I know that anytime I lose my place, all I have to do is look to you and I’ll have a good guide to follow.”

  Sofya’s attitude was so different from her own. Katenka felt refreshed and more relaxed than she had in as long as she could remember. “Don’t you want to get promoted?”

  Sofya shrugged. “Yes, of course, but I know I shall never be a prima ballerina. I should like some solo roles, but really nothing more. I earn enough to get by and am fortunate to have this apartment. It’s not much, but I can afford it, and I am most content. I love the ballet and I get to dance every day. What more could I want?”

  Katenka stayed at Sofya’s that night, sleeping on the narrow settee in the sitting room. When she woke up the next morning with a headache, she was glad to remember that it was Sunday, and there would be no company class. She pulled back the curtain covering the window. It had snowed overnight, and the city looked so clean and perfect beneath its fresh, downy blanket. Its brightness revived her. Today, she decided, would be the start of a new way forward.

  January 1900

  16

  After my run-in with Lev, I was determined to speak to his sister, but I decided not to give her any warning. The following morning was Sunday, so she would not have class, and she was unlikely to go out early in the day. Colin accompanied me, and we found her at home, still in her dressing gown, just finishing a breakfast of black bread with butter and a small bowl of porridge. She insisted on giving us tea and apologized at her state of dishabille.

  “I’m afraid the ballerina’s life is not suited to early mornings. I see you, Mr. Hargreaves, raising your eyebrows,” she said, bestowing upon him a charming smile and then looking away quickly and lowering her voice. “You are quite correct to think that eleven o’clock is not early morning, but it feels that way when you’ve been at the theatre until after midnight and don’t get to sleep before two or three o’clock. When I am not up so late, I like to go to church, though I have not done that so often as I should like to recently.”

  “You are quite right to chastise me,” Colin said. “I can imagine you are utterly exhausted after a performance. Forgive me if I seemed judgmental.”

  Katenka turned to me. “People always forgive him, don’t they? He is so handsome; how could they not?” She blushed as she spoke. “Now, what can I do for you? I don’t think you’ve come in search of breakfast.”

  “We’ve come to ask about your brother,” Colin said. “What can you tell me about him?”

  “Very little, I’m afraid. I have not seen him in years.” She accompanied her lie with an emphatic shake of her head. “He was my closest companion when I was a child. My father died when I was quite young, and my mother never really stopped mourning him. Our grandfather lived with us. He was very strict and very formal, but he loved us very much. Lev is older than I, and always looked out for me. We grew apart after I graduated from school. He had been working at Melnikov’s Bookshop on Nevsky Prospekt, but after he quit his position, he moved. It is not so easy to stay close when you are not in the same city.”

  I took note of the fact that she did not ask why we were inquiring about her brother. “But he returned for Nemetseva’s funeral, didn’t he?” I asked.

  “Not so far as I know. As I said, we have not kept in touch.”

  “You haven’t seen him?” I asked. “Even at the funeral.”

  “No.” She did not look at me as she answered.

  “I cannot understand why you are lying,” I said, “and I know you are lying. I met your brother yesterday at Nemetseva’s flat. Why did you never mention his connection to her? He had come to collect the letters he’d written her.” This last point had me on shaky ground, but it seemed a reasonable guess. If I was lucky, Katenka might confirm my suspicion.

  “I don’t understand why any of this matters. You cannot think he had something to do with her death.” A rough edge crept into her voice. “Lev is not violent. He would never—” A flush of bright crimson erupted on her neck and worked its way to her forehead.r />
  “No one is suggesting your brother is violent,” Colin said, leaning close to her and speaking in the kindest, most sympathetic tone. “It is important that we know everything we can about Nemetseva’s life. It is the only way we can hope to bring her murderer to justice.”

  “Do you know why Lev removed the letters from Nemetseva’s apartment?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “As I said, we have not been in contact for some time. Yes, I did see him after the funeral. I should have told you the truth about that, but I … I … you must understand that things in Russia are not always so simple as they are in other places. Lev wanted to sever any connection between us to protect me. From what, I don’t know, but I am doing my best to honor his request.”

  “These have been extremely trying times for you.” Colin’s voice, so perfectly soothing, could coax anyone to trust him. “I did not realize how concern for your brother has compounded your suffering. Do you know what he is involved in? I may be in a position to help him.”

  “That’s very kind, Mr. Hargreaves,” Katenka said, looking in his eyes and holding his gaze. “I don’t know any of the details of his situation, but I am confident that he would never engage in behavior that could be viewed as underhanded or immoral. You must believe me. He is a good man. He had nothing to do with—” She covered her eyes with her hand. “Forgive me. I am overcome. This has all been too much for me. Lev would never involve himself in anything that could lead to him requiring help.”